


Clothes don’t make the Beta

by Cinnamaldeide



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 5 Things, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Domestic, Don’t copy to another site, M/M, Minor Character Death, Missing Scene, Murder Family, Nesting, Omega Verse, Omega/Omega, Possessive behavior through clothes, Pre-Relationship, Revised Version, Season/Series 02, aesthetic included
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 17:06:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19445842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamaldeide/pseuds/Cinnamaldeide
Summary: Abigail waits at the cliff house for Hannibal to make an honest Omega out of Will.





	Clothes don’t make the Beta

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FhimeChan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FhimeChan/gifts).



> Many thanks to [Another_lost_one](https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_lost_one) for having beta read this work, which isn’t especially long but may all the same be included in a book I’m planning to publish ❀

In the modern, lavish residence Hannibal had identified as _modest safe house_ upon their arrival, there were officially too many rooms to talk about modesty, according to Abigail.

It was meant to grant privacy and anonymity for a brief period of time before her alleged resurrection, Hannibal had explained while leading her across a spacious kitchen, a sun-drenched living room, three different bathrooms, various large corridors and multiple tastefully furnished bedrooms. At least four by her distracted count.

Abigail certainly didn’t need them, felt in fact agoraphobic at the prospect of inhabiting so much space by herself, once Hannibal returned to his practice the following Monday. She never revealed her discomfort, afraid that Hannibal would exploit it to his advantage, instead acquiesced to his requests and wishes, politely nodded when Hannibal inquired about her state of hunger, followed him obediently. She had learned to do as she was told, implicitly or otherwise, after having unearthed Nicholas Boyle’s body without Hannibal’s consent.

Abigail was a survivor, she knew better than paddle upstream. She adapted.

•

Before their circumstantial cohabitation, restricted to the weekends mercifully for her mental sanity, Abigail had seldom speculated on Hannibal’s secondary gender. Alphas often smelt kind of funny to her, put her on edge in close proximity even, while omegas would ingratiate themselves quite effortlessly, charm her in a different manner than Hannibal managed. It made sense to peg him for an unconventional beta of esoteric taste instead.

Betas did tend to display obsessive tendencies towards omegas, particularly for their tender inclinations and exploitable vulnerability. Will’s general lack of both, not to mention his less than inviting hormones and seemingly inexistent softness, didn’t however prevent Hannibal from sporting a rather obvious fondness for him.

It hadn’t surprised Abigail to find a capacious closet in her own room with perfectly fitting clothes, tasteful scarves and stylish accessories. It did come as a surprise when Hannibal delivered a large package of supplies intended for an omega with the precise instruction of depositing it in his personal chamber.

Abigail complied, feeling into the kitchen with a disquieting restlessness to arrange Hannibal’s brand-new set of utensils.

•

Curious despite herself, Abigail ventured in Will’s quarters after some days of respectful distance, uncertain about her welcome. It held her surrogate father’s touch through Hannibal’s hand in the decor and details. The plain pattern of his linens, the rustic wood of his headboard, the lamp tilted just _so_ beside his wide bed. It felt sordid to enter without permission.

Sliding the cabinets that Hannibal had neatly filled with white socks and white shorts and boring white shirts, Abigail found heat underwears, slick-proof pants, a wardrobe of flattering outfits. Some comfortable-looking choices Will might have approved of, some definitely designed to please Hannibal’s aesthetic, embarrassingly evidently so. Abigail should have been much more naive not to understand the implications.

As an alpha, she briefly worried their hormones would interfere with her in some measure. They weren’t biologically bound, which meant she wouldn’t be completely immune to their smells in case Hannibal or Will ever approached her while fertile and ovulating. She felt kind of sick at the prospect, despite how objectively attractive her adoptive parents were.

Running her fingers on those sweaters, each in the same size, sorted by colour, made her feel nostalgic more than excited.

•

According to Hannibal’s planning, Will wouldn’t have occasion to see the manson for himself. A pity, considering all the efforts devoted to preparing an adequate nest for their settling family, but Hannibal didn’t seem particularly perturbed nor mournful.

“How do you know he won’t want to stay low-profile for a while before,” she shrugged her shoulders, “I don’t know, whatever you have in mind after this.”

“He longs for closure,” Hannibal answered, quite cryptically, without elaborating further.

Abigail hadn’t meant to pry with her idle inquiry, merely sought to divert her attention while packing her goods as Hannibal had requested. “Will we prepare a bag for him too?” She presumed Hannibal would handle Will’s belongings as well as his own.

“Do not worry,” he assuaged her. “I disposed of his necessities before coming here, I am confident he won’t miss any of this, ourselves excluded.”

His words were unexpectedly sweet, although they could easily mean that either Hannibal had stoked multiple sets of clothes for Will in a variety of his properties, or that he planned on _disposing_ of Will altogether. Abigail found both possibilities entirely plausible.

•

It turned out the closure was meant for Jack Crawford all along. The alpha’s blood covered her dads, staining the fine garments under their rain-soaked coats. Abigail could scent their wounds and distress and utter accomplishment in the air, hidden on the upper floor as Hannibal had directed.

“You were magnificent,” she could hear Hannibal cooing at Will, “I’ve never seen a fellow omega feast so fiercely on an alpha, so gruesomely and righteously.” His voice sounded deeper than she remembered, as Hannibal led Will into another room in the house.

“I don’t know if I can still claim I didn’t enjoy any of that, I’m beginning to realize that’s just fine with me,” Will was admitting, and Abigail thought about their hushed conversation, the both of them surrounded with plants, whispering conspiratory about how killing had made Will feel. Terrified, powerful. “Did you prepare a _nest_?” suddenly came his surprised voice.

“I prepared myself for any contingency,” Hannibal said, seemingly flustered. Not expecting Will to maintain his control after their conjoined kill, if Abigail had to guess.

“You ransacked my closet, is what you did,” Will teased, rather smitten.

“I did no such thing.”

“It is very comfy, though.”

Abigail elected to leave them alone before the gentling she was projecting in her mind made her flush more noticeable to Hannibal’s sensitive nose. She could wait for them to sort their unsolved issues, likely fondle each other for a while, before Hannibal would relent and allow Will to meet her, stare incredulously at her, mostly whole and entirely alive, eager to form their own nest.

There was no rush.

**Author's Note:**

> Abigail survived ok? That’s for my peace of mind. And killing Jack was for Fhime’s. It’s her birthday after all :>  
> I wasn’t kidding about the book. Let me know if you’re interested, or if you spot errors I should fix.  
> [Find me elsewhere](https://cinnamaldeide.carrd.co). [Post on Twitter](https://twitter.com/cinnamaldeide/status/1150742554008272898?s=20).


End file.
